Capítulo 1763: Chapter 1254: Hosickness (Part 3)
“In 1937, when the telegram about the Marco Polo Bridge Incident reached Penang, Grandfather was cutting the ribbon for a new rubber plantation.” The old man’s fingers gently caressed the map, “He tore up the congratulatory speech on the spot and ascended the podium shouting, ‘Huaxia is in crisis!'”
“At that ti, the overseas Chinese in the Southern Ocean were setting off an unprecedented wave of resistance against Japan and aid for China. In every street and alley, the wonton noodle vendors donated half of their daily inco; the rubber tappers gave up all the wages they had saved for half a year. Grandfather went even further, selling three properties and, through Mr. Chen Jiageng’s ‘Nanyang Overseas Chinese Relief for the Nation’s Refugees’ organization, sent ten whole trucks of dical supplies to the southwestern rear.”
“What I rember most clearly is a rickshaw driver,” Guo Jingyao’s eyes reddened slightly, “Every day he would weave through the streets and alleys of Penang, and after finishing his work, he would co to our doorstep and take out a copper coin with his body warmth still on it from his chest.”
“In 1942, when the Japanese army’s iron hoofs trampled across the Malay Peninsula, Grandfather was listed on the wanted list for his active aid to China. The whole family was forced to flee to a plantation deep in the jungle for refuge. Even in those darkest days, Grandfather still insisted on teaching his children to read ‘San Zi Jing’ and write Chinese characters in a thatched hut.”
“On his deathbed, Grandfather called to his side and handed a key.” Guo Jingyao walked to the safe and took out a book that had beco yellowed and brittle, “This is the Guo Family’s record of all overseas assets. He said, ‘These assets will one day be used to serve the motherland.'”
The eting room was silent, even the most restless young generation held their breath.
Guo Jingyao’s voice began to choke, “In the 1980s, when I finally had the opportunity to return to the old ho in Fujian for the first ti, I brought with Grandfather’s portrait. I knelt for a whole afternoon in front of the dilapidated old house.”
He turned on the projector, and an old photo appeared on the screen: a small boy standing at the dock in Penang, gazing at the sea horizon to the northwest.
“This was in 1939.” Guo Jingyao said softly, “At that ti, I would go to the dock every day because the adults said if you keep going north from there, you can return to China.”
A long silence enveloped the eting room. Outside the window, the Southern Ocean’s sunset burned fiercely, dyeing the entire sky red.
“Now,” Guo Jingyao slowly stood up, his gaze as sharp as a knife, “the motherland needs to break through the technological barriers, needs to achieve industrial upgrading. Those Westerners think they can still use guns and cannons to make us bow as they did a hundred years ago? No! This ti, we will break this invisible wall with our wisdom, perseverance, and the hands of us Chinese!”
He slamd the desktop heavily, causing the pot of narcissus to tremble slightly.
“I’ve decided to invest the first batch of ten billion US Dollars to establish the ‘Breaking Wall Fund’. At the sa ti, we will set up six talent recruitnt centers around the world to invite the top Chinese scientists back with the best conditions.”
“Father!” The second son, Xiuwu, couldn’t help but stand up, “This is almost fifty percent of our liquid funds! Several major projects of the group will be affected!”
“Then pause them!” The old man’s voice was unquestionable, “Xiuwu, rember, money can be earned again, but the opportunity for the nation is fleeting.”
Guo Jingyao returned to the main position, hands resting on the desktop, his body slightly leaning forward:
“Children, our Guo Family has worked hard in the Southern Ocean for four generations, amassing wealth comparable to a nation. But the true aning of this wealth is not to allow us to live a luxurious life, but in monts when history reaches a crossroads again, we have the ability to contribute sothing for the nation, for the motherland.”
His gaze fell once more out the window, towards the sky infused with the colors of the sunset, his voice suddenly softening:
“The incense bag that Great-Grandfather took with him when he left his holand, I have always treasured. The soil inside is almost gone, but that longing for the holand has taken root and flourished in our hearts.”
“Today, we finally have the opportunity to let this tree of longing, adrift for a hundred years, replant its roots back into the soil of the motherland.”
Tears, at last, fell from the eyes of this weathered old man, dripping onto the yellowed ledger, spreading a century of hosickness.
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